[It's very nearly too much. Sitting in a hot bath with a cute naked girl is one thing, but having said girl draw in so close she can almost feel the press of her body, voice dropped low, hands cupped to her lips-- honestly, it's a lot to take. Gideon swallows, her own eyes big and round and intent on the other woman's face--
--and then there's the cool press of her skin against her lips and sure it's just a fingertip but it's still enough to have her breath snagging in her throat. Gideon blinks, and stays silent. No judging, she's young and hot-blooded and touch-starved to the point where this feels like a fucking gift.
She's aware, distantly, that the other woman is playing games with her, but she can't tell if those games are meant to include her or whether there's anything darker in her intent. She thinks, again, of the woman she had believed to be Dulcinea Septimus, the coy mirth in her face. The ancient malaise it had concealed. But that was then, and this is now, and she's perfectly prepared to believe that maybe this time they're playing a game for two.
So she follows the pointed gaze as it alights on the pile of towels, and she stays gravely silent, even as she feels a small, sharp sense of loss when the woman's hands slide away from her and back beneath the water. She nods - faux-solemn, convincingly serious - and answers in a quiet hush.]
You're in luck, I'm just the woman for the job. You can consider that wine as good as procured.
[And then she's pushing herself out of the delicious heat of the water, cool air wrapping her body and sending a quiet thrill along her spine, before beginning to saunter with a casual air toward the pile of towels. Only one of the other bathers glances her way as she reaches for a towel, feels the hard push of the wine bottle's neck beneath her hand. They're quick to look away again, clearly not interested in her, but why spoil the pretence? She waits until the bather turns away again to continue a muted conversation with the person closest to her before Gideon slings the towel around her shoulders and the bottle of wine down her bandeau all in one fluid, practiced motion. She's slipped many a thing out from under the noses of those who are guarding them before - keys, nutrient paste, books, you name it - and as she stalks back toward the pool, water dripping from her wet leggings and onto the stone floor beneath her, no one pays her any mind at all.
She slides into the bath, towel still around her shoulders, and motions toward her cleavage with a quick dip of her eyes.]
no subject
--and then there's the cool press of her skin against her lips and sure it's just a fingertip but it's still enough to have her breath snagging in her throat. Gideon blinks, and stays silent. No judging, she's young and hot-blooded and touch-starved to the point where this feels like a fucking gift.
She's aware, distantly, that the other woman is playing games with her, but she can't tell if those games are meant to include her or whether there's anything darker in her intent. She thinks, again, of the woman she had believed to be Dulcinea Septimus, the coy mirth in her face. The ancient malaise it had concealed. But that was then, and this is now, and she's perfectly prepared to believe that maybe this time they're playing a game for two.
So she follows the pointed gaze as it alights on the pile of towels, and she stays gravely silent, even as she feels a small, sharp sense of loss when the woman's hands slide away from her and back beneath the water. She nods - faux-solemn, convincingly serious - and answers in a quiet hush.]
You're in luck, I'm just the woman for the job. You can consider that wine as good as procured.
[And then she's pushing herself out of the delicious heat of the water, cool air wrapping her body and sending a quiet thrill along her spine, before beginning to saunter with a casual air toward the pile of towels. Only one of the other bathers glances her way as she reaches for a towel, feels the hard push of the wine bottle's neck beneath her hand. They're quick to look away again, clearly not interested in her, but why spoil the pretence? She waits until the bather turns away again to continue a muted conversation with the person closest to her before Gideon slings the towel around her shoulders and the bottle of wine down her bandeau all in one fluid, practiced motion. She's slipped many a thing out from under the noses of those who are guarding them before - keys, nutrient paste, books, you name it - and as she stalks back toward the pool, water dripping from her wet leggings and onto the stone floor beneath her, no one pays her any mind at all.
She slides into the bath, towel still around her shoulders, and motions toward her cleavage with a quick dip of her eyes.]
Your contraband, milady.